So, I turn thirty-six on Saturday. It’s weird. I haven’t done a lot of the stuff I thought I’d do–no husband, no kids, no great novel. But I have done a lot of awesome stuff I never would have even dreamed I’d do. And I have met people so amazing and… I don’t know. My dreams for myself were too small.
Well, not the novel part… But the “don’t hope for too much” part.
Now, I don’t really hope for anything at all.
Not in a depressing way.
It sounds depressing. But I hope you read it with the sense of wonder and awe I intend for it. My life has been better than I could have hoped for.
So, maybe I do hope for that–that I will continue to have a life better than I could have hoped.
Anyway, happy birthday to me. Yes, this is early, but that’s what I’m thinking about.